


One Good One

by milou407



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: All the Dads, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bahorel and Feuilly Swear, Bakery, Banter, Dad Feuilly, Dad Grantaire, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milou407/pseuds/milou407
Summary: Bahorel has realized many times over that he should have chosen a different profession. You really can't be a baker and also hate mornings, the two just don't work. 
Given that, it really should not be surprising that the best part of Bahorel's mornings comes from the hot ginger guy that comes in at exactly 7:15 each Wednesday and Friday. He comes in looking a little tired, a little rumpled, a little like sex on a stick. It's really a shame he's a paying customer, because Bahorel would climb that like a tree. 
(The Bakery!AU that no one asked for but got written anyway)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Million Reasons by Lady Gaga

Bahorel has realized many times over that he should have chosen a different profession. You really can't be a baker and also hate mornings, the two just don't work. Yet somehow, he thought it was a good idea to say fuck you to law school and open a bakery, with the help of an inheritance from his grandmother and Bossuet's incomparable decorating skills. But he's made his choice, and now he spends six out of seven days a week in a kitchen, wearing a flowery apron. 

And he fucking loves it. Except for the early mornings. 

Given that, it really should not be surprising that the best part of Bahorel's mornings comes from the hot ginger guy that comes in at exactly 7:15 each Wednesday and Friday. He comes in looking a little tired, a little rumpled, a little like sex on a stick. It's really a shame he's a paying customer, because Bahorel would climb that like a tree. Or be climbed. He's not picky. 

But he comes in, two mornings out of the week, with a tired but bright smile, and orders two _pain au chocolat_ to go. He never stays, he never stops to chat, and he leaves Bahorel just a little heartbroken each time. He leaves with a dorky little wave one Friday, and Bahorel actually whines and rests his chin on his hand. Bossuet pokes his head out of the back and sighs at him. Which is, you know, a little offensive since it took Bossuet three years to get with his boyfriend and girlfriend. He shouldn't judge. 

"Dude, just go for it. He's cute, what have you got to lose?" Bossuet claps him on the shoulder as he walks over to the display case, gently placing a set of freshly iced cupcakes on the racks. Bahorel groans and drops his head to the counter. 

"Bossuet. Khaleesi. Moon of my life. Each time he comes in, he buys two pastries. He's clearly buying them for someone. Someone who is not me. Someone who is probably a woman." The back of his head stings from the sudden slap. "Fuck, sorry, heteronormativity is a prison, I fucking know. I'm just saying. It's possible." 

Bossuet shrugs as he returns to the kitchen, "Whatever, man. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Keep your pining out of the kitchen, it's disgusting." Bahorel flips him off and follows him into the back. Pretty men will come and go, but pastry is forever. 

\-----

The next time Hot Ginger comes in, Bahorel decides to earn his stripes or what the fuck ever. As he rings him up, he blurts out: "Bahorel." 

Ginger's pretty eyebrow _(what the fuck)_ raises. "Excuse me?" 

Twenty years of Tae Kwon Do is all that keeps Bahorel from punching himself in the face. "My name. Its Bahorel. In case you wanted to know." 

Success, Ginger looks vaguely amused now instead of confused. "That's nice? I'm Feuilly." He extends a hand, and Bahorel takes it, refusing to think of how the calluses he can feel would feel other places. 

"Nice to meet you" he smiles, because Bahorel is _fucking charming,_ goddammit. 

"Come back soon." 

"I'll see you Friday" and good lord help him, Feuilly almost smirks as he leaves. Bahorel has to grab the edge of the counter to steady himself. He laughs at   
himself and shakes his head, turning away from the till.

\-----

It takes him another two weeks, but Bahorel has finally decided he's going to do it. He's asking Feuilly out. On a real date. With handholding and compliments and shit. Because he's a fucking gentleman, and will wine and dine this asshole before he asks politely if he can see him naked. 

Feuilly enters the bakery with a genuine smile, and Bahorel pretends he isn't literally dying a little bit inside. He also waits until he's bagged and charged Feuilly for the pastries before he asks, "Do you want to go out to dinner sometime?" 

This appears to break Feuilly, who stares at him for a few seconds, blinking. Bahorel can see him light up in excitement, then he bites at his lip and real regret crosses his face. Feuilly shakes his head. "I can't. I'm sorry, it's nothing- I wish I could but-" Bahorel waves him off with a fake smile that's only a little painful. 

"It's fine, don't worry about it. Have a nice day, man." 

"Yeah, you too." Bahorel has never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy than this grown-ass man, and Feuilly completes the illusion by slinking out the door with his head down. Bahorel turns from the counter to go find Bossuet, because dammit, he needs a hug.

\----- 

Feuilly returns to the bakery the next Wednesday, and Bahorel preserves the illusion that he wasn't genuinely worried that he wouldn't come back. But he does, looking more exhausted and haggard than usual, and still lights up the whole damn shop with that tired smile. Bahorel gets his pastries, and waves off his offered money. 

"They're 'I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable with my advances' croissants," he says, "you don't have to pay for these. One time deal." Feuilly frowns, which is definitely the wrong response to free pastries. He opens his mouth, probably to protest, but is interrupted by the jingle of the bell on the door, and the smack that quickly follows when the door hits the wall. A small, dark haired blur whizzes around the edge of the counter, and Bahorel drops into a crouch just in time to catch the little devil as he screeches _"Uncle Baz!"_

Bahorel stands and swings him up onto his hip, peppering the child's face with kisses. "Bastien, I wasn't expecting you for another hour! Did you finally run away to live with me? Where's your Papa?" 

"Papa's here, he's just trying not to die of a collapsed lung," Grantaire wheezes as he jogs into the shop, well after his son. He levels a stern look at the little boy, and Sebastien hides his face in Bahorel's neck. "What have we said about running away from me and Daddy?" 

"But I wanted to see Uncle Bazza," he pouts, which he clearly learned from Enjolras, as it is truly legendary. As expected, Grantaire holds his ground for about half a second before melting and coming around the counter to kiss his son's forehead. 

"I know you did, honey, but no more, okay? It scares us when you run away like that." 

"Speaking of," Bahorel interrupts, "Where's your better half? I thought you and Enj were both dropping the little monster off." Bastien shrieks as Bahorel flips him over, giggling wildly when he's pulled back upright. Grantaire rolls his eyes fondly, though whether it's at his child or the mention of his husband, it's impossible to tell. 

"He was going to, but there was apparently some kind of paperwork emergency that he _had_ to go in at six for. I swear, he would live there if I didn't drag him home to eat and sleep." 

"Yeah, I'm sure that's the only incentive you offer," Bahorel grins wickedly and then turns his attention to Feuilly, who has been standing at the counter watching the exchange like a tennis match. Bahorel bounces Bastien on his hip, "Sebastien, this is Feuilly. He comes into the shop every week. Can you say hi?" 

"Hi," Bastien mumbles and then hides his face in Bahorel's neck, making Feuilly smile softly at him. 

"Hi there." Feuilly then turns and extends his hand to Grantaire, "Hi, Feuilly. I'm a regular customer." 

"Oh?" Grantaire raises his eyebrows at Bahorel before taking his hand, "I'm Grantaire. Bahorel and I used to live together, and now he's my babysitter." 

"Is that all I am to you?" Bahorel would put a hand to his chest, but there's currently a small child curled up there adorably so he refrains, and hopes his shocked facial expression is enough. "What about our _bond,_ R? Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Right now, no." Grantaire smirks at him, then glances at the clock and sighs. "I need to go drag Enj away from his desk, he promised me a day off and I intend to collect on it." He leans in and kisses Sebastien's cheek. "Be good, munchkin. I'll be back later with Daddy to pick you up." 

"Bye, Papa!" Bastien smacks a kiss on Grantaire's face, and Bahorel melts just a little at the soft smile it elicits from Grantaire. He clears his throat and punches Bahorel's shoulder. 

"Don't kill my kid." 

"I am offended you would even insinuate that. I am a paragon of child rearing skill. If I can keep you from burning down the apartment while drunk, I think I can handle your spawn."

Grantaire rolls his eyes, "Yeah, alright. Nice to meet you, Feuilly." 

"You too," Feuilly answers. Grantaire waves as he leaves, and Sebastien starts talking animatedly as Bahorel hands Feuilly his bag of croissants, again. 

"Wow, did he really say that?" Bahorel says before he turns his attention from the little angel on his hip to wave at Feuilly where he's backing out slowly. "See ya, Feuilly." 

"Bye!" Bastien waves as well, and it's really not fair that kidnapping is illegal cause Bahorel would totally steal this kid. 

"Yeah, bye." Feuilly raises a hand in response, mouth curved up in a gentle smile. He leaves, and Bahorel sighs before tickling at Bastien's side to make him squeal. 

"Come on, little man. Let's see if Bossuet will let us decorate some cookies, yeah?" This gets a cheer, and Bahorel smiles, pushing all thoughts of unavailable gingers from his mind in favor of making this little boy smile.

\-----

On Friday, Bahorel is wiping his hands after an unfortunate incident involving a bag of flour which decided to explode in his face when Feuilly comes in. He leans against the counter and watches, amused, as Bahorel attempts to rid himself completely of wheat products. 

"So," Feuilly says after a minute, "you like kids?" Bahorel gives him the side eye, that's a bit of a non-sequitur for this early on a Friday. 

"Yeah? Is that an issue?" 

Feuilly shakes his head quickly. "No, just. You don't seem the type, what with all your. You." He makes some kind of vague hand gesture at Bahorel's person. Bahorel stares at him, then looks down at himself, a flour covered periwinkle blue apron over a lavender shirt and gray skinnies. 

“I’m not following.”

“With the muscles, and the tattoos, and the-“ Feuilly lets out a huff. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. I was just surprised.”

“Kids are great. What’s not to love?” Bahorel starts wiping at the pristine counter, “Children are honest, they’re sweet, and all you have to do to get them to behave is to treat them like people.” He shrugs a bit, “I might be a little biased, because Sebastien is literally an angel sent from heaven, but I don’t see any reason not to love children.” He points his rag at Feuilly, “And hypermasculinity is toxic and hurts us all in the end, so I will not have you perpetuating it in my bakery. Showing emotions is good, Feuilly, it might not hurt once in a while.”

Feuilly raises his hands in surrender, smirking just a little, “Hey, you’ll get no argument from me. I’m pretty fond of children myself.” 

“Well, good then.” Bahorel rings him up, and hands over his bag. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Feuilly looks him over, as if considering him. The blinding smile Bahorel receives seems to indicate that he has passed some sort of test. “I think I’m good for now. Thanks, Bahorel.” He gives a little wave before he leaves, a bit of a spring in his step. Bahorel watches him leave, partially in confusion, partially for that ass. He shrugs and goes back to finish everything he couldn’t get done yesterday with a small child on his hip.

\-----

8:30 am that Saturday finds Bahorel pulling the last tray of apple-pecan muffins out of the oven, and setting them on racks to cool. The rush of early morning weekenders (ew) has passed, and he usually has about an hour of sporadic drop ins before the next rush arrives. He sighs a bit when he hears the bell chime, but he puts on his customer service smile and heads out to the front. 

“What can I do for-“ the _you_ dies on his tongue as he takes in the sight before him, completely dumbstruck. 

Feuilly stands just inside the doorway, looking at Bahorel wish a sheepish grin and holding the hand of a small child. She looks to be about seven, with long, curly auburn hair just a few shades darker than Feuilly’s. She’s got the same complexion, freckles and all, but her eyes are brown instead of his cool blue. She’s looking around the shop in wonder, and when her eyes land on Bahorel she tugs on Feuilly’s hand and moves behind his legs a bit, wide eyes locked on Bahorel. 

Feuilly smiles down at her and moves forward, tugging her with him. Bahorel’s dead, completely deceased at how cute they are, there’s no fucking help for him now. He blinks and they’re standing at the counter, Feuilly murmuring to her in a language that’s definitely not English, but which makes her come out from behind him and stand in front of the counter, big brown eyes peeking over the top.

“Say hello, _myszko._ He’s nice, I promise,” Feuilly watches her warmly, and smiles at Bahorel.

“Hello,” comes a small voice, and yep, that’s it. Bahorel’s dead. No more. Hopefully Bossuet will be kind enough to have him cremated. 

“Hi there,” he chokes out, leaning over the counter to extend a hand to the small child, “My name is Bahorel.” 

The child looks at him, then up at Feuilly, “Papa?”

“He’s a friend of Papa’s. He makes the buns you like so much, remember?”

She brightens and takes his hand, holding it gently. “My name is Katarzyna Nowak, but you can call me Katie, or Kat. Papa calls me Kat.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bahorel gets himself under control enough to smile at them both, “Do you want your usual?” 

Katie nods vigorously, and Feuilly chuckles lowly. It’s probably the most relaxed Bahorel has ever seen him. “Yes, please. There might be a riot if she doesn’t get her sweets.”

“ _Papa,_ ” Katie whines before her attention is drawn back to Bahorel. “Your hair is very pretty. Is it always that color?”

Bahorel shakes his head, his teal fringe falling in his face. He smiles and goes to get their _pain au chocolat,_ “No, I dye it different colors. I’m getting a bit bored of this, though. What color do you think I should do next?”

Katie makes a thoughtful face, “My favorite color is purple, but I don’t know if that would look good in your hair. But Papa says any color looks good on you, so I think you should do purple.”

Bahorel raises an eyebrow at Feuilly as he hands over the bag of pastries. “Oh, does he?”

Feuilly’s face is carefully blank, but his eyes are a little strained. “I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“Papa, that’s not true!” Katie practically pouts at him, “I heard you talking to Uncle Marius about how much you liked his hair, and you said it would look good any color, since it was a part of him-“ Feuilly hands her the bag a little briskly. 

“ _Kochanie,_ why don’t you take your bun over to those chairs. Let me talk to Bahorel alone, yeah?” Katie takes the bag happily, and goes to sit in one of the squashy armchairs in the corner. Bahorel leans an elbow on the counter and puts his chin in his hand, smiling up at Feuilly.

“She’s really cute.”

Feuilly groans, “She’s a terror, and enjoys making me look like an idiot.” He shoots a fond look over at the chairs, where his daughter sits, munching contentedly. “I adopted her about four years ago now. She’s my brother’s, biologically. But there was an accident, and now she’s mine.”

Bahorel nods, “Well, you’re doing a good job with her. She adores you.” 

“She’s. Yeah. She’s amazing.” Feuilly puts a couple bills on the counter, and then squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. Bahorel looks at him a little funny as he puts the money in the register. “Do you want to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

Bahorel freezes, eyes flitting between Feuilly and Katie. “Did you just use your child to seduce me?”

Feuilly chokes, “No, Jesus, no. That was not my intention, I promise.” He pauses. “Did it work?”

“Dude, you didn’t have to seduce me, I’ve been gone over you for weeks. But you were serious?”

“Yeah, I.” Feuilly sighs and rubs at the back of his neck, “I said no before because it didn’t seem fair to go out with you when you didn’t know what you were getting into. I’ve got a kid, I don’t really do casual.” 

“Oh. Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve been trying to seduce you through pastry for ages.” Bahorel smiles at him wickedly, “So I would love to have dinner with you. In a distinctly not casual way.” 

He’s rewarded with another bright smile, open and honest in a way he rarely sees out of Feuilly. Bahorel can feel his own smile turning softer in response, until they’re grinning at each other like idiots. They’re interrupted by Katie tugging at Feuilly’s hand.

“ _Papa,_ ” she whispers as only a child can, which is to say at normal speaking volume, “Is this where you kiss him?” Feuilly groans in response.

“Katarzyna, what have I told you about eavesdropping on peoples’ conversations?” 

She looks up at him with wide eyes, “But I got bored. And I ran out of buns.” She holds up the empty bag as evidence, and Bahorel stifles a laugh. Feuilly sends him a disapproving look. 

“We will be having a talk when we get home. And I’m going to tell Uncle Marius to not let you have any treats when he takes you shopping today.” Feuilly looks at Bahorel from under his lashes, “I’ll meet you here at seven?”

“I’ll be here,” He smiles and bites at his lip, “Are you sure this isn’t the part of the conversation where you kiss me?” 

Feuilly looks at him and fakes an exasperated sigh, but Bahorel can see the fond smile curling his lip. He reaches out and grasps the edge of Bahorel’s waistcoat, tugging him over the counter as he leans forward, pressing their lips together softly. Bahorel smiles when he hears a muffled squeal, and pulls back before he gives in to the desire to drag Feuilly over the counter in a kiss that’s _definitely_ not appropriate for a child’s eyes. 

Katie is watching them with bright eyes, smiling behind her hands. Feuilly clears his throat and takes her hand. “Come on, baby, we have to go meet Uncle Marius.” 

She waves at Bahorel, and he waves back before they turn to go. Feuilly turns over his shoulder to send Bahorel a warm look as they walk out, and Bahorel winks back. He can hear Katie say, “Papa, I’ve never seen you go _that_ color before!” just before the door closes behind them with a cheerful jingle. 

Bahorel stares at the closed door, bringing his fingertips up to touch his lips, which feel like they’re tingling slightly. He smiles down at his shoes and turns to go back to the kitchen.

Bahorel fucking loves mornings.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are devoured like _pain au chocolat_


End file.
